Here Mr. Boffin was heard lustily calling at the yard gate, “Halloa! Wegg! Halloa!”

“Keep your seat, Mr. Venus,” said Wegg. “He may not stop.” And then called out, “Halloa, sir! Halloa! I’m with you directly, sir! Half a minute, Mr. Boffin. Coming, sir, as fast as my leg will bring me!” And so with a show of much cheerful alacrity stumped out to the gate with a light, and there, through the window of a cab, descried Mr. Boffin inside, blocked up with books.

“Here! lend a hand, Wegg,” said Mr. Boffin excitedly, “I can’t get out till the way is cleared for me. This is the Annual Register, Wegg, in a cab-full of wollumes. Do you know him?”

“Know the Animal Register, sir?” returned the Impostor, who had caught the name imperfectly. “For a trifling wager, I think I could find any Animal in him, blindfold, Mr. Boffin.”

“And here’s Kirby’s Wonderful Museum,” said Mr. Boffin, “and Caulfield’s Characters, and Wilson’s. Such Characters, Wegg, such Characters! I must have one or two of the best of ’em to-night. It’s amazing what places they used to put the guineas in, wrapped up in rags. Catch hold of that pile of wollumes, Wegg, or it’ll bulge out and burst into the mud. Is there anyone about, to help?”

“There’s a friend of mine, sir, that had the intention of spending the evening with me when I gave you up — much against my will — for the night.”

“Call him out,” cried Mr. Boffin in a bustle; “get him to bear a hand. Don’t drop that one under your arm. It’s Dancer. Him and his sister made pies of a dead sheep they found when they were out a walking. Where’s your friend? Oh, here’s your friend. Would you be so good as help Wegg and myself with these books? But don’t take Jemmy Taylor of Southwark, nor yet Jemmy Wood of Gloucester. These are the two Jemmys. I’ll carry them myself.”

Not ceasing to talk and bustle, in a state of great excitement, Mr. Boffin directed the removal and arrangement of the books, appearing to be in some sort beside himself until they were all deposited on the floor, and the cab was dismissed.

“There!” said Mr. Boffin, gloating over them. “There they are, like the four-and-twenty fiddlers — all of a row. Get on your spectacles, Wegg; I know where to find the best of ’em, and we’ll have a taste at once of what we have got before us. What’s your friend’s name?”

Mr. Wegg presented his friend as Mr. Venus.

“Eh?” cried Mr. Boffin, catching at the name. “Of Clerkenwell?”

“Of Clerkenwell, sir,” said Mr. Venus.

“Why, I’ve heard of you,” cried Mr. Boffin, “I heard of you in the old man’s time. You knew him. Did you ever buy anything of him?” With piercing eagerness.

“No, sir,” returned Venus.

“But he showed you things; didn’t he?”

Mr. Venus, with a glance at his friend, replied in the affirmative.

“What did he show you?” asked Mr. Boffin, putting his hands behind him, and eagerly advancing his head. “Did he show you boxes, little cabinets, pocket-books, parcels, anything locked or sealed, anything tied up?”

Mr. Venus shook his head.


  By PanEris using Melati.

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